Decoy
by angelcloudy
Summary: What if Katniss never felt anything? Not a thing at all? And you can't blame her – because with her life before the Games, what's there to have her heart out anyway? A different take on Katniss and Peeta after their Victors' interview night and the trai


**A/N:** It's been a year since my Lucifer songfic on the same pairing. This features a slightly dark Katniss. If you don't like a slightly dark Katniss, or a depressing story for that matter, then get the hell away.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the fantastic _The Hunger Games Trilogy_, Madam Suzanne Collins does.

**Summary: **Katniss has gone mental and ate the damned berries, making Peeta the 74th Victor. Peeta runs off from the Capitol medics and dies sooner than expected. You don't get a Catching Fire or a Mockingjay. So much for a _trilogy, _huh?

No, that's not the summary. Here's the _real _one: What if Katniss never felt anything? Not a thing at all? And you can't blame her – because with her life before the Games, what's there to have her heart out anyway? A different take on Katniss and Peeta after their Victors' interview night and the train ride.

Let the Games begin!

**A/N: **Another shameful author's note before you really, really begin: I recommend you listen to Paramore's Decoy while you read through this. It gives a feeling.

_Close your eyes and make believe_

_This is where you want to be_

_Forgetting all the memories_

_Trying to forget love 'cause love's forgotten me_

"Peeta," I whisper through gritted teeth. "Peeta, listen to me."

He goes on ignoring me, absently pushing around the peas on his plate with his fork. Before I start insisting that he talk to me, I contemplate on what I have to say, why I have to say them, and how in the world I'll say them like he does. Unlike him, I'm not gifted with words. I'm horrible and what I mean with my words doesn't come out the way I plan them to.

Since our conversation at the Capitol train station, Peeta has been steadily giving me no attention. Either he looks out of the window, enjoying the redundant view of greenery – the only changing factor is the lighting – or he stares fondly at his lap or the table. I know he has the right to keep on doing so. I've been heartless. Oh, no, not heartless. I still have a heart although it's frozen in lies and pretence. I remember vividly the hurt in his voice before we parted and I remember vividly the onslaught of emotions which coursed through me that moment.

How could he think like that? How could he _assume_ things like I've fallen for him? Doesn't he know what surviving means?

I have had my fair share of experiencing the meaning first hand. I doubt he has.

I'm not a heartless monster. I've been loved and I have loved. Now, I don't know if I'm capable of those things anymore. After my father's death, matters of the heart grew out of focus. I hunted to put food in my family's table, yes. I did things which would make Prim happy, yes. I tried enduring my mother's state and herself as a whole, yes. But those things, today I think of them as acts of _caring_ and not loving. I care for them, that, I am sure of.

What goes the other way around… I'm utterly confused. Did they care about me and dare I hope, love me? Or were they enacting a sick charade solely because they depended on me? A sick charade like what I played with Peeta Mellark. I don't know.

Hard as it may be, I know one thing for certain: love has forgotten me and there's much as I could do to succeed doing the same thing about love itself.

_Well, hey, hey, baby_

_It's never too late_

_Pretty soon you won't remember a thing_

_And I'll be distant,_

_The stars reminiscing_

_Your heart's been wasted on me_

"Peeta," I repeat, this time louder so he can hear me from across the train isle. His gaze is still focused on the view outside. It's sunset and the train stopped for fuel. I decide I'll want to begin this conversation with small talk. "Isn't the sunset beautiful?" Yes, the worst start but it's what I came up with best.

Surprisingly, he responds, although I'm confident he knows our talk will not only be about sunset. "Yes. You expect orange to be a lively colour, just like that of the flames but when it's sundown, orange becomes a hue too soft to admire and evenly strong not to resist."

I scoot lousily in my cushioned seat and dare move closer to the isle. Peeta still hasn't looked my way but his words are enough incentive. "You admire such colours, Peeta?"

"It will be pretty much obvious, right?" He chuckles, maybe because of the utter stupidity my question contained. "I love those soft colours, Katniss. With how you were acting when we were at the Capitol, I thought you'd know," Peeta adds bitterly.

"Don't be like this, Peeta! You have to understand!" I burst, so unexpectedly I have to hide a blush creeping up my cheeks. There are no other passengers in the train car we're in but revealing my thoughts like this, it makes me feel vulnerable. "Mother and Prim – I don't know what would happen if I died in the arena. You should've known I was in to win the Games, not just as a replacement for my little sister!"

"And you should've known I was acting myself the entire time. I've said to you that I didn't want to be a piece in their Games, that when I die, I want to be me. You should've known I love you, I cared about you, and I want to be loved back by you." There is that pained voice again, making the guilt upon my heart mount into towering piles.

"I can't do that, Peeta," I confess. "I won't be able to do that."

"I promise, you'll learn! You…"

"No!" I cut him off fiercely. "You don't know what's in it for me, Peeta. Swear to me, when we arrive back in District Twelve, you'll live a merry life, find a wife from town, and never think about me again. I assure you, it's not too late." I'm asking for something immensely impossible and…

This time his words cut off my train of thought. "It's impossible," he unconsciously agrees to my musings. "I'm not going to do it, Katniss. Is it because of Gale you ask this of me? No matter, I'll pursue you to no end. It sounds obsessive but it's because I love you and you were there to witness so yourself."

"Just forget about me," I insist again. "Your heart's been wasted on me."

_Live your life inside a dream_

_Time is changing everything_

_Forgetting all the memories_

_And I'm forced into you just 'cause you're into me_

"I don't care! There's a way you'll learn even though you're already capable of it. Loving, that is," he insists with equal passion. "The thing is, you need to recognize them. Katniss, just listen, I want you to love me –" The desperation in his voice suddenly becomes crystal clear. So before things boil down to the worst…

"Forget about everything then. When you find another girl, you'll… you'll forget."

"Fine," he indignantly announces. "I'll ask you now then, what would you do about the Capitol?" The reality in his words hits me like a hurtling missile. _What would I do about the Capitol?_

I'm the impassive one after that conversation. For almost an hour, all I did is drumming my fingers on the table and all he did is stare my way with a fixed frown upon his pretty face.

_You've never been so used_

_As I'm using you_

_Abusing you, my little decoy_

_Don't look so blue_

_You should've seen right through_

_I'm using you my little decoy_

Things click into place when the train moves again. The concern of what I have to do about the Capitol. Peeta is the key.

He'll be hurt when he knows but he doesn't have to, does he? But he's not an idiot.

He'll know eventually.

He'll be my little decoy.

He'll be happy about it.

"Peeta." This is the third time I whisper his name. "You're right, I'll learn to love. And at this moment, I… I think I love you." Despite the deceit underneath the words, I feel embarrassed. Or is there deceit at all?

**A/N: **I honestly don't know if I caught the gist of what's been up my head for an entire day already. And sorry for any mistake your meticulous eyes may pass – this had been a less than an hour affair. I'm terribly sorry! Review, please?


End file.
